


Softly, gently

by softiejace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Cooking, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Romantic Fluff, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, john is very much in love, lots of kisses, sherlock has a praise kink, where is rosie no one knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9649760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softiejace/pseuds/softiejace
Summary: It feels like preparing for the fall all over again, except this time he knows John will be there to catch him. Because he’s still here, after everything, like he always will be.And so Sherlock shuts his eyes and touches his mouth to John’s, just barely.The ghost of a kiss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set sometime during the tidying up of their flat after the explosion, when Sherlock and John have finally admitted their feelings to each other.
> 
> contains: first kisses and attempts at cooking. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

* * *

There they are now. In the aftermath.

With words that have been withheld far too long finally out in the open.

With so much still left to say, to ask, to apologize for.

And yet –

Sherlock’s voice is quiet and raw in the dimness of the living room. “Don’t – say anything just yet, John,” he requests. “Please. I – there’s something –“

“ _Sherlock_.”

“- something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time. One favour, John, please? If you’d let me. If you... trust me.” 

John looks at him, across the debris of the room they haven't yet cleared up entirely, and he seems far and close at the same time. 

“God,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “‘Course, yeah. – Anything.”

Sherlock stares back like he wants to burn the image of John into the back of his eyelids so he'll never stop seeing him. 

“Stand very still for a moment, don’t move,” he whispers. “Please.” 

John blinks, confused, but nods.

Sherlock approaches him. A wild animal, shy but too curious to keep his distance, he stands in front of him and beholds him.

When he leans down awkwardly, John smiles, the most miraculous little thing composed of soft eyes and curled corners of his mouth.

Sherlock feels it in his heart, in his very bones. He takes a breath, licking his lips. 

It feels like preparing for the fall all over again, except this time he knows John will be there to catch him. Because he’s still here, after everything, like he always will be.

And so Sherlock shuts his eyes and touches his mouth to John’s, just barely. 

The ghost of a kiss.

John lets out the softest gasp; a gust of air, of breath on Sherlock’s face.

He feels it run down his spine like a chill. 

They are _so close._ It’s overwhelming.

John whispers, “care to do that again?” 

Sherlock blinks, breathes. His heart is beating somewhere near his throat.

He leans in and kisses John. Thinks of the word as he does it. _He’s kissing John._

It’s one of the rare moments where John is thinking the exact same thing at the same time. 

Sherlock, kissing him. 

More deliberate, this time, it seems. But still careful, calculating, a brush – a peck.

John’s aching inside, filled with longing like a balloon ready to burst. 

When they part, he sighs as though Sherlock is drawing the breath out of him.

Sherlock’s stood still bent down awkwardly, blinking, breathing irregularly. On the brink of panicking, apparently.

John won’t have that. He reaches for him.

“Can I have a try?” he asks.

Sherlock blinks. Breathes. Nods. 

John smiles, gently placing his hand on the back of his neck. Guiding him.

He pulls him down into a kiss – a proper one. Lips already parted, he kisses him soft, yet insistent. Kisses like saying, here. And: finally.

And Sherlock’s mouth falls open, lips molding with John’s, slotting together. John feels his heart beating quick against his chest.

The smallest sound from Sherlock’s throat – a gasp; no, a moan; no, a sigh – John pulls back. Smack of reluctantly parting lips.

They breathe. John’s thumb is still stroking the hair at the nape of Sherlock’s neck. They lean in at the same time, John’s head falling against Sherlock’s shoulder.

The room has gone dark, dust swirling invisible around them, but not between them. There’s no space between them, not for a single speck.

John can hear Sherlock’s heartbeat where his ear is pressed against his chest. 

“And did you like that?” he asks, quiet as he can.

Sherlock’s chin rests ever so gently on top of his head. 

“Hmm. Yes. Very.” 

“Good. Me too.” 

They’re silent for a moment, then Sherlock whispers, “sorry for my – err – inexperience.”

He sounds – vulnerable. 

John holds him closer. 

“No need to apologize. Not for that, Sherlock. - You just need practice.” 

“Lots of it, apparently,” Sherlock murmurs, and John chuckles.

“Well, you’re in luck.”

“Hm. How so?” 

He pulls back from their swaying hug to look into John’s eyes. He’s smiling, and John smiles back at him.

“I know just the man,” he says.

Sherlock blushes, and it’s the most beautiful thing John has ever seen.

 

*

 

“Are you hungry or is that just me?” Sherlock asks after a while of them standing, hugging, silently.

John smiles, face buried in the silky fabric of Sherlock’s dressing gown.

“Hm, I could eat. If we’re going out you’ll need to change, though. Or we could order. Have you got cash?”

Sherlock hums. “I was thinking of. Well. We have food in, actually. Mrs Hudson brought us some when she last went to the shops.”

John moves back a little to blink up at him.

It’s so dark he can barely make out his face, so he reaches out. His hand finds the smooth skin of Sherlock’s cheek, and he cradles it. Strokes his thumb across the protruding bottom lip. 

Fascinating, that he gets to do this. Sherlock’s breath falters. Then he leans his head into the touch.

John feels light as air.

“You’re suggesting we cook? Do you even know how to do that?” he asks, teasing.

When Sherlock blinks, his eyelashes tickle John’s fingers. 

“Oh, please. It’s basically chemistry.”

John laughs and drops his hand, runs it down Sherlock’s arm until it meets another one. He takes both of Sherlock’s hands into his. 

“Okay, you’re leaving the cooking to me, then. Let’s go see what we’ve got.”

They stumble into the kitchen in the darkness, John tugging along Sherlock by his hands, unwilling to let go for even a second. 

Inside, John finds the switch and flicks on the light, finding gladly that for once there are no experiments occupying the table. 

Sherlock blinks rapidly at him. 

Oh, and what a sight he is.

His eyes are slightly glazed over. His lips are – pink, plump, and glistening. He looks kissed.

_He looks kissed._

John takes his face into his hands and pulls him down for another. He kisses him, and kisses him; soft, quick pecks, struggling to snatch breaths in between.

Sherlock giggles against his mouth, his hands knotted somewhere into the back of John’s shirt.

John smiles back, but kisses him anyway, once more.

“Funny that it becomes more difficult to kiss when you’re happy,” Sherlock mutters when they finally break apart, and John grins. 

“Funny, huh. You’re – happy, then?” 

Sherlock just looks at him.

Something swells inside of John. He swallows. His smile feels a bit wet.

“Come on, let’s find something to eat,” he says, voice shaking.

Sherlock takes his hand again.

There’s pasta in the cupboards and a can of tomatoes. Onions, too. It’ll make do, John thinks.

Sherlock clears his throat behind him as John lays out the ingredients on the counter.

“So what do I do?”

“Grab a big pot.” 

Sherlock does as he’s told, hunkering down to retrieve it from the cupboard. 

“And fill it with water, would you, love?” John adds, tearing open the pack of noodles.

There’s a clattering noise behind him, and as he looks around, Sherlock is stacking the pots back inside the cupboard. His cheeks are bright pink.

Interesting effect. 

John decides that’s a pet name to keep.

Hiding his grin, he assesses what else they’re going to need. A can opener. Got it. Wooden spoon, here, and some knives. And oh, right – spices.

In the upmost cupboard.

The sound of running water stops as he’s on his toes, stretching as tall as he can.

Warmth behind his back, then a hand reaches past him and opens the cupboard.

“Salt?” Sherlock asks. His breath fans the back of John’s head.

John sinks flat onto his feet, his back touching Sherlock’s chest with how close they are. He clears his throat. 

“Yep. And pepper, basil...”

Sherlock grabs the shakers he points out and hands them down to John, who places them on the counter.

“Anything else?”

“Rosem- _mary_ ,” John says, his voice cracking.

Sherlock takes it down carefully, shuts the cupboard, and then his arms are around John, pulling him back into his chest.

John breathes quickly. His lungs feel too tight.

“Shh-shh,” Sherlock says. He’s warm and firm behind him, his chin on John’s shoulder, cheek pressed to his.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks softly a moment later.

John blinks and clears his throat once, twice. “You can. Err. Salt the water in that pot. And put it on the stove.”

Sherlock hums, pressing a kiss to John’s cheek before he retreats.

John stares at the blamable shaker.

“Table spoonful enough?”

He blinks and turns. “Oh. Yes. That should be fine.”

Sherlock empties the spoon into the water and turns on the stove. “We’re getting it to boil, yes?” he asks, placing the lid on the pot.

“So we are. Clever boy,” John says thoughtlessly, and Sherlock flushes even more vigorously than before.

He’s got a praise kink, John thinks. Christ. Sherlock Holmes has a praise kink.

_Of course he does, remember when you first called him “brilliant”?_

John shakes his head to shut the voice out. 

Sherlock’s eyeing the tomato can. “Am I in charge of the sauce?” he asks – like an eager child.

John starts to think that perhaps he’s never done this before. Then again, he grew up with parents who probably cooked for their children every day, so he didn’t have to take care of himself ever since he was –

“John?”

There’s a hand on his chin, tilting it upwards, and then there’s a mouth colliding gently with his own.

He sighs into the contact, running his hand up into Sherlock’s hair. His curls are softer even than imagined, and John has imagined them a lot.

“Hmm-hmm,” he hums against Sherlock’s lips, tightening the grip of his fingers when the other attempts to pull back.

Sherlock gives a tiny moan.

He’s sensitive. _God._

A sizzling noise interrupts them, and John pushes Sherlock away so abruptly the other man stumbles into the table. 

“Sorry – sorry, love, I – shit!”

He rushes to remove the pot from the hotplate. Water is bubbling over all around it and John messily wipes it up with a tea towel while trying to protect his hands from the heat. 

The plate hisses.

“Fuck!”

A curious sound makes him turn around. Sherlock’s leaning against the table, hands covering his face, laughing so hard he’s hic-coughing with it.

“S-sorry. You – “ 

But instead of words, fresh laughter bubbles up and he doubles over.

“Bastard,” John says, but a grin is tugging at his lips. 

He can’t remember when he’s last seen Sherlock laugh like this.

“Right,” he says, playing stern. “That’s enough of that. You wanted to be in charge, remember? But look at the mess you've made, letting the water spill.”

Sherlock sobers up, glancing at John. The sight of him biting his lip is almost too much for John to handle.

“That wasn’t entirely my fault,” Sherlock protests. “You distracted me.”

John rolls his eyes. “Fine. No more kisses for you then, if you can’t control yourself.”

As he turns around to open the can, he hears Sherlock gasp, and the next thing he knows is that he’s held in a tight grip and tickled ferociously.

“Sh-sher-lock!” he pants, struggling to free himself, giggling madly. “Let - me - go!”

“Say please,” Sherlock growls, his fingers scrabbling about John’s belly. “And say you’re taking back the no kiss policy!”

“Pl-please!” John exclaims, trying to get a hold of Sherlock’s hands. “I’ll k-kiss you all you want! P-promise!”

The tickles stop, but Sherlock’s arms remain locked around him. They’re both panting for breath.

John feels a pair of lips caressing his neck. 

“Hm. You’re forgiven.”

“Good. Thank you. - Now, where were we?”

John lets Sherlock pour the noodles into the water, setting it up to boil again gently.

His enthusiasm is endearing. 

“Now, can I help with the sauce, please?” Sherlock asks, begs, quite literally, and - oh, god. Where has he learned that puppy eye thing?

“Yes, alright. But you’ll have to put this on first.”

John grabs something from the tea towel drawer and throws it at Sherlock.

Sherlock unfolds it suspiciously – and frowns at the frilly white apron in his hands. “You’re not being serious.”

John grins. “I am being 100% serious, Sherlock. Go on, tie it round your waist. Wouldn’t want you to stain your trousers. – Not like that, at least,” he adds, quieter, and Sherlock splutter-coughs behind him.

“ _John!_ ”

 

*

 

Sherlock cuts onions, and John kisses his tear-stained face.

He kisses Sherlock as he’s adding spices to the sauce, and maybe Sherlock pours in a little too much salt, but John pretends it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, and Sherlock beams.

They steal kisses as they’re setting the table, and kiss over wine and shared spoonfuls of left-over sauce, and when they’re done eating, they kiss just for the sake of it.

Sherlock helps John stash the dishes in the sink and then they sink onto the sofa, John leaning against the armrest, Sherlock claiming the space between his legs, resting his cheek upon his chest.

John runs his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and relishes in the content little sounds he makes, and now and again he tugs him up to brush his mouth against Sherlock’s which is already curled into a sleepy smile.

Sherlock tastes like tomatoes and basil and too much salt, but John can’t stop kissing him.

Not now.

Not ever again.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> if you wanna see how i imagined them cuddling on the sofa, here's some art :D
> 
> twitter: https://twitter.com/softiejace/status/830159565064900608
> 
> tumblr: http://pamoonblackbird.tumblr.com/post/157075897861/when-youve-got-a-sleepy-sherlock-holmes-using-you


End file.
